Koki: Deliciousness at Home

by Manzie Vincent Doh

Growing up in a little village in southwestern Cameroon, I would sit in our little family hut with my brothers, sisters, cousins and my childhood friend Pascal to eat a delicious meal of koki, served on a big platter by Mom. It was my favorite dish.

At six years old, if koki was on the menu, I wasted no time running around the school yard with classmates after the final bell had rung. Rather, I picked up my chalk box and hurried home. Staying behind to play with school mates was for days an ordinary meal was cooked.

Cooking koki for the family was a labor of love for my mother. It takes time and effort to be prepared, cooked and served, and each time she decided to do so, I sat by her side to watch.

The night before serving, Mom usually soaked the dry beans – cowpeas (black-eyed peas) harvested from the farm – in a large pot of water. The next morning she would rub the cowpeas together between her hands to remove the skins. Then she rinsed them in fresh water to wash away the skins and any other debris. Afterwards, she mashed the beans into a paste in a mortar using a pestle. Mixing this bean paste with a little water, salt and warmed palm oil reddened it.

Mom then covered the bottom of a large pot with a banana leaf folded in half. The rest of the banana leaves were warmed on the "fire-side" to make them easier to fold. To remove the center rib of each leaf, she cut across it with a knife, pulling it off. Strings to tie the koki into balls were also prepared. The pot containing the folded leaf was then put on the fire-side, water poured in and covered. About three little cups of mashed paste were poured inside a banana leaf-outfitted bowl. Mom carefully folded the banana leaf into a ball and tied firmly with string harvested from banana stump, placing it into the pot. She repeated this process with the rest of the banana leaves and paste.

The pot cooked for about two and a half hours; water was added as necessary. When ready, my mother would untie the koki balls, cut them into slices and serve them on a large platter to everyone. Mom always gave me a special treat, knowing koki was my favorite. We ate the koki warm (though it could also be eaten cold), accompanied by boiled green banana harvested from the farm by my father. In the absence of banana, my mother served the koki with boiled, ripe plantain, potato or cocoyam.

The last time I ate koki was on August 28, 2009, the night before I boarded a plane to Beijing. Unfortunately, though koki remains my favorite, I can't make it myself. And although some African restaurants can serve koki, it might not really be like that prepared by my mother.

Koki is popular all over Cameroon. In many homes, koki is prepared and cooked on weekends – Sunday to be specific, when moms have more time. While none of the over 230 ethnic groups in Cameroon can actually claim ownership of the dish, koki remains a meal embedded in Cameroonian culture. But it is possible to find koki in different forms in other parts of Africa. In many West African countries, koki is very similar to "moyin-moyin," while other regions of the continent call it ekoki, haricots koki, koki beans, koki de niebe, gateau de haricots, or bean cake.

Cooking methods may vary, but the ingredients remain the same. However, the preparation as done by my mother is the most common and widely used in Cameroon.

Key koki ingredients:

●Dry cowpeas (black-eyed peas). For a family of six, eight cups of cowpeas should be sufficient;

●Large banana leaves (quantity depends on how many koki balls you want to make).

● Palm oil (to redden and add flavor to the koki);

●Salt, to taste;

●Chili pepper (optional);

●String to tie the koki balls.